


What is Lost Can Never Be Saved

by rabidchild67



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Dog Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe disappears soon after Hap’s funeral and Nick figures he just needs some space until an investigation into an illegal casino uncovers a shocking truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is Lost Can Never Be Saved

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to "Three Bad Wolves." Title is a lyric from the song “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” by Smashing Pumpkins.

Nick sat next to Monroe at Hap’s funeral service and again at the graveside. He was clearly hurting so much, but all of his efforts to comfort Monroe had been frozen out this last week. It wasn’t as if Nick really blamed him – his own distant demeanor in the wake of his aunt’s death and the ensuing Grimm drama had spelled the end of his relationship with Juliette. He never could sit idly by and allow another being to suffer, not when he was a kid and would constantly bring injured strays home, and not now.

Monroe stuck around even after all the mourners had left – all six of them. Of course, Angelina was not among them. Nick stayed with him, standing beside the open grave and staring at the lid of the dark wood coffin. He tentatively reached the fingers of his hand out, trying to thread them inside Monroe’s, but the _blutbad_ moved his hand deliberately away and scratched his nose. Nick let his shoulders drop, disappointed.

Monroe clearly noticed Nick’s reaction. “I’m sorry, I just…for some reason, physical contact is not something I can’t handle right now.” He turned to look at Nick. “Please tell me you understand that?”

Nick looked up at him and smiled sadly. “I think I can. Just know that you don’t have to go through this alone, OK? I’m here. I’m always here.”

Monroe reached out and traced the line of Nick’s jaw with his forefinger. “I know. And ordinarily I’d go for it. But Hap, man – it’s the closing of a chapter in my life I never thought I’d see the end of. It’s hard.” He sighed, blinking back the tears that suddenly filled his eyes. 

“I get it, I do.”

“I’m just gonna need a little space for a couple days. That all right?” He shifted his feet nervously, looking to Nick like he was hitting him up for a loan or something. 

“Of course. Just, you know, take care of yourself.”

Monroe sighed heavily. “I will.”

“No, seriously, take care of yourself. If I know you, you won’t shower for days. You with greasy hair – not a good look.” He reached out and brushed Monroe’s hair to the side, even though it wasn’t necessary.

Monroe managed a slight smile, ducked his head sheepishly and turned to go. Nick watched him walk away, his concern not diminished by the image of Monroe slouching away, shoulders bowed and head down. 

He hoped he’d find the solace he needed with a little alone time. He just didn’t know how well he’d bear the forced separation himself. 

Their relationship, while new, had surprised Nick with its intensity, but both men seemed to thrive on it. Even through the drama of Angelina’s sudden appearance, they’d remained unwaveringly supportive of each other. But Hap’s death had thrown Monroe for a loop, had made him withdraw into himself in a way Nick wasn’t used to, and it was a growing concern. Monroe often admitted he was sometimes too much inside his own head, and that he needed Nick to draw him out of himself He was only too happy to oblige, but he wondered if he’d be successful this time. He wondered if their budding relationship could withstand the guilt and sorrow Monroe was feeling. Nick was willing to give it a try, and he wasn’t prepared to let Monroe give up. 

He watched Monroe’s retreating back until he was completely out of sight and then returned to his car, resigned to giving the _blutbad_ his space even if he thought it was a bad idea.

\----

Three days later, Nick parked across the street from Monroe’s house and watched for a while, wanting to reach out but reluctant to push. Three days and he missed him so bad he’d taken to wearing one of Monroe’s cardigans around the house. 

There was no sign of movement, even though Monroe’s car was parked out front. A crackle of static out of his police radio reminded him he was still on duty and he drove on.

On the fourth day, he texted once: _Just checking in, babe – let me know if you need anything. I’m worried about you._

On the fifth day, he called Monroe’s cell and left three messages. Well, he called something like a dozen times, but left only three messages.

On the sixth day, he went by Monroe’s place and found no trace of him. Mail had piled up in his mailbox and there was a week’s worth of newspapers on the porch. That’s when he asked Wu to run a trace on his credit cards and cell phone.

He was wandering through the squad room, shaking his head over the complete lack of activity on any of Monroe’s cards – not even his debit card – when Renard leaned his head out of his office and called him over. 

“I’ve got an undercover assignment for you,” he said. Nick, distracted, didn’t answer right away. “Nick? Something wrong?”

“Just a, um, friend of mine – haven’t heard from him in a week. It’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Renard looked concerned. “Should we put out an APB?”

The image of police hunting Monroe down when all he was doing was getting a seaweed wrap at a spa somewhere flashed across Nick’s mind. “No, no. Thanks. I’m sure he’ll turn up.” He closed his file folder and gave the captain his unbridled attention. “Tell me about this assignment.”

The case was an underground casino that had cropped up, seemingly overnight. Lonnie Cray, a Confidential informant from Renard’s days as a detective, had turned up with information on the operation and the people behind it, men with known connections to organized crime. “I understand you used to be a blackjack dealer when you were in college?”

“Yes, sir, and for a time right after. It was a way to pay the rent.”

“Good, because you’re going in as a dealer and Lonnie’s going to vouch for you; he’s got an in with the boss. Have a look around, see what you can find out.”

“Got it, Captain.”

“Be careful, keep your eyes open. I want you to gather evidence, but our real goal is to find the men behind the men in charge, OK?”

“Not a problem.”

“Just get in there, get the lay of the land. If there’s anything interesting, we’ll send you in with a wire the following night. Now go home, put on a suit. Shave. Need you looking like a little more respectable.” Renard grinned at him, but Nick let the joke fly over his head. He was still distracted by his concern for Monroe, and now a new assignment needed to take his remaining focus. He nodded at the Captain and left, his thoughts a whirl.

\----

Nick met Lonnie downtown at a bar called Gino’s. Lonnie was a small man, rabbitty and nervous. He wore his dark, thinning hair combed back from his high forehead, and his dark eyes darted all over the place. Nick kept watching him for telltale signs that he was a _reinigen_ or similar creature, but his features never morphed.

“Buy you a drink, kid?” he asked, sniffing.

“No, no thanks. On duty.”

“Of course, of course.”

“We should get going. When do they expect us, anyway?”

Lonnie glanced at his watch; it was 8:00. “Soon. They know I’m bringin’ ya, don’t worry about being late on your first day.” He downed the rest of his straight vodka and hiked up his pants. “Let’s go.”

The casino was in a long-abandoned former parachute factory not far from the bar. Lonnie strode up to the bouncer, a 6-ft. 4-in. behemoth in a black t-shirt and expensive-looking suit. “Hey, Jimmy!” Lonnie said jovially, hand held aloft to receive a high five. Jimmy kept his arms crossed and glared suspiciously at Nick. 

“Who’s he?”

“This is my sister’s kid, Nick. I told Enzo I’d bring him by for a tryout tonight. Blackjack. Kid used to sling cards in Vegas.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows knit further together and his face got darker as he looked Nick up and down. “He don’t look like a dealer. He looks like a cop.”

“Oh, ha-ha, Jimmy, that’s funny. You hear that, Nick? He thinks you look like a cop!” Lonnie dissolved into a fit of what Nick would have categorized as nervous laughter. Ordinarily, this would be cause for concern, but a constant state of nervous energy seemed to be Lonnie’s only character trait. 

Nick tried for his best disaffected smirk. “A cop? Me? No. Me and cops don’t mix well.”

By this time, Lonnie had exhausted his laughter and peered up at Jimmy. “Enzo here?”

Jimmy inclined his head, reached a large hand behind him and opened the door. “He’s in the office.”

Lonnie led Nick through a warren of hallways, past the vast room that had once been the factory’s main shop floor and now served as a makeshift casino, to an office at the back. Enzo, who Nick wasn’t sure, but he may have had a bit part on the episode of _The Sopranos_ he’d watched the night before, was short like Lonnie, but older and powerfully built. The man gave off an air of coiled menace, and Nick resolved to deal with him very respectfully. 

“You Lonnie’s sister’s boy?” Enzo asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lonnie says you used to deal cards in Vegas?”

“Yes, sir. At the Hilton.”

“You there when Larry Greenstein was runnin’ the pit?”

“I caught the tail end of his tenure there, before his triple bypass forced him to retire. A nice man, but I didn’t get a chance to know him.”

Enzo nodded approvingly, and Nick breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t have to lie. He had, in fact, been a dealer at the Las Vegas Hilton for a brief time right after college, to make money before heading into the police academy.

“You’re all right kid. Go downstairs, ask for Josephine. She’ll set you up with a uniform, show you around. You start tonight.”

\----

Two hours later, and Nick was shown to a table that was crowded with what he assumed were regulars, since they all seemed to know each other and others around them. He relieved another dealer, set up his cards and licked his lips nervously.

“You new here?” an attractive, 40-ish blonde asked with a smile.

He smiled and nodded. “My first night, and it’s been a while since I’ve done this.” He didn’t miss the gleam of appreciation in the faces of the players.

“Well, don’t let these idiots intimidate you, we’re a pretty forgiving crowd when the cards go our way.”

“Who isn’t?” Nick replied.

She held out a manicured hand, and Nick assumed the large cocktail ring she sported was a real sapphire. “I’m Trixie.” Of course she was.

Nick settled in, making small talk with the customers but not letting them distract him. After two hands, he felt like the eight years since he’d last done this had melted away. An hour later, however, half his customers began getting up from their seats and leaving the table. Nick looked around and saw similar things happening around the room.

“Oh yeah, there’s a fight on tonight, I forgot,” Trixie said. She handed Nick a $100 chip and stood. “Don’t think you’ll be getting many more tips tonight, Nick.”

“Really?” He tried to sound disappointed and not merely curious.

Trixie nodded. “The fights are a big draw. I don’t see the appeal myself, but my husband follows them avidly.” As if on cue, a tall man in his 60s approached the table and Trixie let him put his arm around her. “This is Stan,” she said, as if either man cared to meet the other. Nick and Stan nodded at each other.

Nick watched as all of his customers – and most of the ones in the casino – drifted towards the back stairs, heading for a lower level. Wondering if it wasn’t something he ought to investigate, Nick cleaned the cards and chips up on the table and stowed them below in the locked cabinet there. He glanced around and noticed that many of his fellow dealers were doing the same, though most of them seemed to be drifting over to the bar to strike up conversations with the waitresses before they had to go downstairs to serve the customers.

Nick slipped down the stairs and hung at the back of the crowd, observing. The “ring” was actually a hole in the floor that looked down onto a brick-walled room in the sub-basement. Overhead lighting shone down into it, illuminating it completely. There were two doors set in opposing walls, where he assumed the combatants would be emerging soon enough. At one end, he noticed the book was set up, and a long line of people stood there, waiting to place their bets. Stadium seating was set up around the edges of the room, and there was barely a seat empty. He also saw that a few of the city’s more noteworthy residents were in attendance, including the deputy mayor, a local news anchor, and the owner of a large car dealership on the outskirts of town who swore he’d sell his mother if he was ever undersold.

The crowd was excited, which didn’t surprise Nick; generally people became more animated at the prospect of violence. As he looked around, he noticed an unusual number of security men positioned at the edges of the ring. He wondered what kind of fighting must be taking place if the crowd had to be kept back. 

After several minutes, the crowd noise abruptly ceased as a man appeared at the top of a raised platform at one end of the audience, illuminated by a spot light. He was dressed in a tux, so was obviously the emcee, and he twirled the old fashioned microphone on its stand as the crowd shifted its attention to him. “Welcome once again, ladies and gentlemen, to Friday Night Fights!”

The crowd cheered. The emcee went on and on, firing the crowd up, and at length finally introduced the main event. “Are you ready for a contest so fierce, so bloody, it will stain your souls?” Nick rolled his eyes at the hyperbole, but the crowd ate it up. “Without further ado, then, I give you the evening’s combatants!”

The doors inside the ring opened and everyone in the crowd leaned forward in expectation, including Nick. Only instead of two human fighters, a pair of wolves entered the ring, blinking up at the bright lights in confusion. The crowd roared.

Nick could feel the bile rise in his throat. He’d heard of dog fighting rings popping up throughout the city, but this went beyond even that level of depravity to pit two members of an endangered species against each other. Sickened, he nearly turned away, wanting to go and find Lonnie and get more background information, maybe seek Renard out to try to bust this up sooner rather than later. But something – some aspect of the animals’ behavior – made him stay.

Of the two wolves, there was one that was visibly larger than the other. It sat placidly in the middle of the ring, regarding the jeering faces of the people arrayed above it, its eyes everywhere. The other wolf was much smaller, but leaner. Nick thought it looked very young as well. It was pacing before the larger one in a nervous half circle, its tail between its legs. The larger wolf put its eyes on the other now, baring its teeth in a silent snarl, but making no move. 

The crowd was becoming impatient; the smaller wolf flinched and skittered off to the side when someone somewhere threw a beer bottle at it that smashed on the stone floor beside it. Quickly, a security guard went to remove the customer who had done it – it wouldn’t do to antagonize the wolves, Nick surmised. As if through some silent agreement, the security men tightened their ranks. One of them produced a long, black pole or something from somewhere – a cattle prod. He leaned down into the ring and touched it briefly against the flank of the smaller wolf. The animal yelped and surged away, towards the other, who snapped his jaws at him in warning.

“Stop it!” Nick shouted involuntarily, but his outburst was swallowed by the renewed roar of the crowd.

The smaller wolf, fear-crazed, twisted its body and lunged, sinking its jaws into the larger one’s shoulder where it joined the neck. The animal reared up suddenly on its back legs, much larger now than it had initially appeared, claws scrabbling at the belly of its opponent and twisting away. This disengaged the smaller wolf, which rolled away and came up on its feet, hackles raised and snarling. The larger wolf landed on its feet, a splash of blood on its fur where the other had struck, its own fur bristling, eyes red and burning. 

_Red eyes?_ Nick thought. _Wolves don’t have red eyes._ He gave another shout and tried to rush forward toward the opening in the room’s floor, but the crowd was too much, they were jostling together shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to see more, thrilling from the violence taking place before them. Nick couldn’t get any closer.

The larger wolf stood its ground as the other stalked around it. When the smaller one struck, the larger feinted right and turned, their bodies clashing together, twisting and writhing. The larger wolf managed to turn away, landing on its feet again, as the smaller made another lunge. Ready this time, the larger wolf met the attack face-on, clasping its jaws around the throat of its opponent and not letting up. The smaller wolf fell to the floor, struggling, but the larger did not let go. In less than a minute, the smaller wolf’s movements slowed and suddenly stopped, and it lay on its side on the floor. The larger wolf disengaged and leapt back, sides heaving as it panted.

The crowd went wild with cheering as money began to trade hands from all the side bets that had arisen in the course of the fight. Down in the ring, the larger wolf approached its opponent and sniffed at its jaws, nudging its face with its snout, but it did not move. Suddenly, the animal’s form began to shimmer and shift and Nick was not surprised to see that is was a fully-morphed _blutbad_ reverting to human form on its death. He turned out to be a young man, no more than 19, Nick surmised, though in death he seemed even younger.

The larger wolf – no, _blutbad_ , Nick corrected himself – did not change. Instead it sat down next to its fallen opponent and raised its snout to the ceiling, giving a long and mournful howl. The sound conveyed such sorrow and despair that it stunned the crowd into momentary silence, and as Nick stepped forward involuntarily – as if he could help, as if he could stop this – he saw something that made him pause. Perhaps it was some innate reverse-Grimm ability, but when the _blutbad_ howled again, he could see the image of its human face somehow embedded within its lupine one. 

_And it was Monroe._

Monroe stopped howling when one of the doors in the ring opened and three men emerged. Two held catch-poles, the other a cattle prod. Monroe got to his feet and backed away, snarling as the men advanced. The one with the cattle prod pressed it against him and he twitched, fell to the floor, but rose again as soon as the instrument was removed. He backed further away, fur bristling, almost at the wall. Nick didn’t like to think what he would do when his back was against it. 

“Monroe!” he shouted a warning, and above all reason, the wolf heard his voice above the rising din of the crowd and turned his head, nose sniffing the air. He found Nick in less than a second, and for a moment, their eyes met. Nick could see the red there begin to diminish, though Monroe did not change. He instead sat down calmly and allowed the men to approach. One of them looped the leather cord of the catch-pole around his neck and twisted cruelly, forcing his head down. Nick could hear him whine with pain as his wounded shoulder made contact with the floor. Within a minute, the men had taken him from the pit, and the crowd erupted in applause. 

Nick was about to try to find a way down there, do something about it, when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Jimmy the bouncer asked, glowering at him.

“I, uh, wanted to see the show,” he answered lamely.

“Well, you’d better get back to your table before the customers, and don’t let Enzo see you, or it’s your ass. Move it!”

Nick turned and reluctantly headed up the steps, his decision to bide his time until he could form a plan one of the hardest of his life. But one thing was certain – he wasn’t going to leave this place tonight until he found Monroe and got him out of here.

\----

It was after 2:30 am when the last customer was asked to leave, and another hour before Nick was given leave to go. If questioned later, he would honestly say he remembered nothing of those few hours; his every thought was consumed with the plan to get to Monroe and take him to safety. If he thought too much of the consequences if he didn’t… well, he just didn’t think murdering everyone in the joint was going to get him to his goal all that efficiently.

There was another abandoned building next to the one that housed the casino – an old warehouse that had also been part of the original complex. Nick found his way to the roof and took up a spot near the chimney stack, watching the comings and goings at the casino. There were mostly goings. He saw two men carrying a large bundle between them – Nick surmised it was the young _blutbad_ who had been killed earlier. They loaded him into the trunk of a car and drove away. Nick wished he could have seen the tags from up here, to follow up later, but he couldn’t, and his priority right now was to find and rescue his partner.

Next, he saw Enzo leave, accompanied by a couple of young cocktail waitresses; they all climbed into the back of a waiting Town Car. Most of the other staff – the dealers, bartenders, waitresses, and busboys – had left the same time as Nick. A few more bouncers and other security types left soon after Enzo. Given what he’d seen earlier in the night, Nick judged there were perhaps half a dozen men left inside. He didn’t think that’d be a problem.

He turned at length and headed down to street level, making his way to the rear of the building where he knew Enzo’s office to be. If he was right, most of the security remaining behind would be there, guarding the night’s take. He was right. Taking out the lock picks he now kept on him at all times, he jimmied the lock on a side door near the loading bay and headed towards the office. 

Sure enough, there were two men inside. Nick coughed, luring one of them out, and he caught the man in a sleeper hold; he was out like a light in less than a minute. Taking the man’s gun, Nick made his way into the office and crept up on the other man. “Portland PD, do not move,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, the barrel of the gun pressed against the man’s neck; he gave up without a fight.

It was Jimmy the bouncer. “I knew you was a cop,” Jimmy said, sounding merely annoyed.

“Yeah, well, you should learn to trust your instincts. The wolf from earlier tonight – where is he being kept?”

Jimmy gave him a look that told Nick he was questioning his priorities. “Downstairs, with the others.”

“There are others?” Nick asked.

“Oh, it’s a regular Noah’s ark of freak shows down there. Enzo keeps quite the menagerie.”

Nick thought he was going to be sick; there was no telling how many innocent creatures – people, they were still people too – were being kept against their will and forced to fight to the death in this hell hole. “How many more guards?” Nick gritted out from between clenched teeth. 

“Three.”

“How do I get down there?”

Jimmy looked at him sideways. “If I help you, will you tell the DA I did? Get me a deal?”

“I’ll try.”

“Then you’re going to need my keys.”

\----

Nick crept down the stairs he’d taken earlier in the evening, careful to be silent, but not really expecting to meet anyone. Jimmy had told him that the guards on the lower level would likely be in the break room on the basement level. Since Nick hadn’t encountered any of them on the way down, he guessed Jimmy’s intel was correct. 

He moved across the room and lowered himself into the fighting pit, trying to ignore the splashes of blood adorning the walls and floor of the space. He crossed over to one of the doors, the one he’d seen them take Monroe through earlier, and tried it – it was unlocked. On the other side was a long corridor, and the first door on the right for the break room Jimmy had told him about; to the left was a stairway to the outside. 

Luckily, the door was only slightly ajar. Calling upon the stealthiest instincts of his ancestors, Nick eased past the doorway unnoticed. The only other door was at the far end of the corridor, and Nick made his way over to it. It was locked, but luckily the second key he tried from Jimmy’s keyring was the one that opened it. 

Inside he found a series of cages, each with a completely transformed creature inside; confusingly, none of them had returned to their human forms. They all roused themselves when he entered, and he heard a chorus of snarls and growls directed at him. He couldn’t say that he blamed any of them. He noticed easily half a dozen _blutbaden_ , a _jagerbar_ , a pair of _reinigen_ in the same cage, and a few creatures Nick had never encountered before. And in a cage at the far end, a single _blutbad_ lay on his side, panting. Nick knew in an instant it was Monroe.

Nick ran to Monroe and fumbled with the keys in his hands, until he found the right one to open the door. He crawled inside and sat beside him. “Oh, Monroe, what have they done to you?” The wolf looked up at him with eyes filled with trust, and heaved a great sigh; the breath whistled when it left him, and Nick thought he must be in great pain. He put a hand on Monroe’s side and leaned forward, placing his forehead against the great animal’s face. Monroe tongue darted out and licked Nick beside his mouth. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Monroe struggled to sit up. 

“I’m getting you all out of here.”

Nick scrambled out of the cage and made his way up and down the room, unlocking all of the cages and opening their doors. Many of the creatures regarded him suspiciously; he had to assume they sensed he was a Grimm, but didn’t understand why he’d be helping them. He left the _blutbaden_ for last, then went and stood at the front of the room, the door to his back.

“I want you all to listen to me,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t want to speak so loudly that the guards would hear, and he hoped that they all had the keen hearing of a _blutbad_. “I know I’m a Grimm, and you all see me as your enemy. I need to tell you that I’m not, and if you believe me, that’s great. If not, I guess you’ll all just have to kill me. But I’m your ticket out of this place, so if we all stick together, we’ll be out in a few minutes. Deal?”

Many of the creatures didn’t react, but some of the _blutbaden_ advanced on him, teeth bared in silent snarls. Nick resisted the urge to draw the weapon he had taken from Jimmy; he didn’t want to antagonize them any further and besides, there was no way he’d have enough bullets. He felt a movement at his side and looked down. Monroe had sidled up next to him, unnoticed by him or any of the others, and stood now, slightly in front of him, fur bristling in a challenge to all comers. He made a series of growls and yips, and if that was a language universally understood by them all, Nick couldn’t tell, but at least the _blutbaden_ backed off.

Nick reached down and threaded his fingers in the fur along Monroe’s shoulders, crouched down and muttered his thanks. “Monroe, I don’t know why you haven’t been able to change back to normal, but I’m assuming you can understand me. Can you?”

Monroe licked him along his jaw and Nick nodded. “Good. Our way out of here takes us past a room full of guards. We need to get out of here, all of us, but I’ll need your help, OK? Do you feel up to it?” Monroe nosed Nick’s chin with his snout and placed a paw on his knee, flexing his claws in the fabric. “Thanks.”

Nick opened up the door and peered down the hall; there was no sign of the guards. He moved out into the hall, Monroe on his heels, and headed for the stairs. He waited just outside the door where the guards were sitting, smoking and laughing and playing cards. He indicated for the creatures to head towards the stairs, making shushing gestures to be sure they knew to move quietly. 

The _reinigen_ seemed to get the idea the quickest, and soon most were up and out of the building. Nick could feel the cool outside air sweep down the stairs as they prized the door open and escaped. The rest of the creatures followed suit, but Nick noticed how the _blutbaden_ remained behind. They advanced on him, red eyes on the door behind him, licking their chops. Their intentions were clear, and Nick couldn’t say he blamed them, but he wouldn’t be responsible for a bloodbath, no matter how well-deserved he thought it was. He put his hand on his gun but didn’t draw; it was a Mexican standoff that he wasn’t sure he’d see the other side of.

Monroe bristled at his side, growling, but it was no longer enough to warn the others off. They advanced slowly, and at length, Monroe took the hem of Nick’s jacket in his mouth and tried to pull him away. 

“Monroe, no. I can’t let this happen,” Nick hissed, but the wolf at his side tugged at the jacket more insistently, whining for him to hurry. Inside the room, Nick could hear the scrape of chair legs against the floor and soon one of the guards was at the door. 

“What the –“ the man exclaimed. “They’re loose! The animals!” He pulled a gun from a shoulder holster and was soon joined by his two fellows, guns drawn. Monroe clamped his jaws on Nick’s wrist and pulled him away from the impending fight. Nick hesitated, but followed; there was little he could now do. As they made it to the fresh air outside, he heard snarls and gunshots behind him, and secretly hoped the _blutbaden_ would prevail. 

Nick and Monroe jogged away from the building and towards where Nick had parked his car, several blocks away. Halfway there, Nick noticed that Monroe was lagging behind, so he slowed, and when they were only a block away, Monroe stopped, panting. Nick ran back to his side. “It’s not far, can you make it?” He crouched down and put his hands on the wolf’s shoulders, and he could feel as well as smell that the blood was flowing freely from the wound Monroe had sustained during the fight. He flinched away when Nick touched him, then sank to the ground and lay on his side, panting heavily and trembling. 

“Shit,” Nick muttered. “Don’t give up on me now, Monroe, please.” He bent down and lifted the animal into his arms, carried him to his SUV and laid him down in the back. Monroe tried to lift his head when he was settled, but Nick could tell he was in pain. “Settle down, OK? I’ll get you some help. Just hang on, Monroe. Please hang on.”

\----

Nick pulled up to the 24-hr veterinary hospital where Juliette worked; it was Saturday, and if her schedule was still the same, she would already be in, getting ready for the day’s surgeries. He strode up to the staff entrance and rang the bell. Luckily, it was Juliette who answered.

“Nick?” she said, surprised.

“Hey,” he said, feeling awkward and tense at the same time. Their breakup had been a long time coming – had seemed inevitable since before he’d started seeing Monroe, but the new relationship had made it just a bit easier on Nick. The same could not be said for Juliette.

“What – what are you doing here?”

“I need your help. Can you – can you just come with me?” He gestured towards his car and headed off in that direction. She reluctantly followed.

“He’s hurt bad, I didn’t know where else to go,” Nick said by way of explanation, then opened up the back of the SUV. 

Juliette gasped and took a step back. “Holy shit, Nick, it’s a wolf! You brought a wolf here?”

“I didn’t have a choice, he’s hurt really badly. Please, Juliette, he can’t die. Just say you’ll help him.”

She took a step towards the car and the animal watched her with pained eyes. She reached a trembling hand forward. “Don’t worry, he’s tame,” Nick reassured her, and she gave him a dubious look. She laid her hand on the animal’s shoulder, prodding his injury, and he didn’t move except to flinch in pain. She then reached down and grasped its forelimb, taking its pulse. The wolf licked her on the wrist, once, then laid its head down and whined softly.

“Aw, buddy, you’ll be OK,” she said, laying a hand alongside his face. She looked back at Nick. “Bring him inside.”

Nick hoisted Monroe out of the car and followed Juliette into the building. She led him to an exam room and Nick laid the wolf down gently, resting a calming hand on his flank. Juliette began her examination, prodding the injury some more and evaluating Monroe’s vital signs. 

“It’s a pretty bad bite – was he in a fight or something?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. I found him like this.”

“Found him where?” Juliette asked as she pulled out a suture and an IV kit. She ran the IV first, then took up a small set of electric clippers and began to shave the fur around the wound on Monroe’s shoulder. 

“In the yard?”

“In the city? It’s been a while since a wolf’s been spotted that far into civilization. What would make you even try to help him? He’s a wild animal.”

“I, uh, I’ve seen him around before. He’s tame, I think. I wonder if he used to be someone’s pet, or something.”

She gave him a dubious look and began to clean out the wolf’s wound. As she took up the needle to administer the local anesthetic, Monroe licked her hand again, and she looked down at him. “That IV making you feel a little better, guy?” She rested a hand on his head, caressed the soft ear with her thumb, and smiled. “We’ll get you patched up and out of here soon, OK?”

He required multiple stitches, and when she was done, she swabbed the area one last time and carefully bandaged it. She then added a bit of a painkiller to the wolf’s IV and watched him drift immediately to sleep. She looked up at Nick. “Now what?”

“What do you mean – you tell me?”

“What are you going to do with him? He can’t be alone, not for a little while, and he can’t stay here.”

“Can he come home with me?”

“Are you asking if it’s medically safe for him to go home with you? I’d say someone should keep an eye on him for a few hours, maybe a few days, but otherwise, he’ll make a full recovery. But is it safe for you to take him home? Nick, he’s a _wolf_. It’s not safe for anyone.” She put her hand on his arm entreatingly.

Nick nodded, once, and pulled his arm away. “Thanks, but I got it. Can we go now?”

She shook her head. “I give up. There’s no talking with you when you’re this secretive. Yes, you can go now.” She sighed, then rooted inside a cabinet and filled two prescription bottles for him. “Here’s some painkillers and an antibiotic. Make sure he takes all of the antibiotics; the painkillers are only if he’s in distress. Got it?”

Nick nodded. “Thanks, Juliette.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ll send you my bill.” She left and he was left alone with an unconscious Monroe. 

Nick looked down on him and sighed, wondering if he’d have fought harder for his relationship with Juliette if he hadn’t found Monroe. He bent down and buried his face in the soft fur at the wolf’s throat, shook his head. He didn’t think he’d change a thing if he had a chance. 

\----

The eastern sky was beginning to lighten when Nick finally got Monroe to his house. He carried him into the living room and set him down, then made a fire. He finally settled down on the floor next to the couch with the wolf’s head in his lap, stroking the soft fur. Monroe was still sleepy from the painkillers, and Nick spoke softly to him until he fell back to sleep. The long night soon took its toll on Nick as well, and he also fell into a doze, his head falling back onto the couch’s cushions. 

Three hours later, a strange displacement of air around him caused Nick to wake. When he looked down, he saw that Monroe had shifted back into his human form, and lay curled up beside him. He was naked, of course, and Nick reached behind and snagged the throw from the back of the couch to cover him. He was about to settle down to sleep again when Monroe stirred. He craned his neck back to peer at Nick.

“Hey,” Nick said gently, laying his hand on Monroe’s head and carding his fingers through his curls. “How you feeling?”

“My shoulder hurts,” he said, and pushed himself painfully into a seated position. He pulled the blanket over himself and shivered. The bandage still covered the wound, though now that it had a human’s anatomy to deal with, it was crooked, inadequate. 

“Come here,” Nick said, holding out his arm, but Monroe hesitated. “Let me hold you or I might fly apart,” Nick told him, his voice thick with emotion.

Monroe sank against Nick’s side, his head on his chest, and Nick wrapped him in both arms, being careful of his injury even as he held him as tight as he dared. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t know…I didn’t notice you were missing. I thought you just left town for a while. If I hadn’t been undercover last night, you would’ve – I mean, you might not have –“

“You saved my life, Nick. You don’t have to apologize.”

Nick buried his face in Monroe’s hair and closed his eyes, relieved to have him back, safe. He couldn’t dwell on what might have happened if he hadn’t been in that casino – what might have happened to all of the others. So he changed the subject. “Hungry? I have eggs.”

“Sure.” Monroe twitched his face against Nick and then sat up. When he did, Nick saw tear stains on his shirtfront, but said nothing. Monroe pulled the blanket around his shoulders and stared at the floor. 

“Maybe we should get you dressed first,” Nick said, caressing Monroe’s face with his hand. He ran up the stairs to retrieve sweatpants, a T-shirt and the cardigan he’d been wearing himself for the last week. Monroe stood and Nick helped him, being careful of his injured shoulder. Nick noticed he ducked his nose down into the sweater before donning it, as if to catch Nick’s scent. Nick took his hand and led him into the kitchen, then pulled some ingredients out of the fridge and began making breakfast.

Monroe sat down at the kitchen island. Nick poured some juice and set it in front of him, put water on to boil for the French press. Monroe sniffed at the juice. “Is it bad?” Nick asked, sniffing at his own.

“No, no. In that – place – they put drugs in the water that made us change, kept us morphed. I guess I just –“ He shrugged and took a sip.

Nick turned away and looked for some butter in the fridge so that Monroe wouldn’t see him clenching his jaw in anger. “Scrambled or fried?”

“Scrambled.”

Nick cracked eggs, added a scoop of crème fraiche to them, some salt, and set a pan on a low flame. He began beating the eggs with a whisk. 

“You making a soufflé?” Monroe asked.

“Huh?”

“You sure are beating the hell out of those eggs.”

Nick looked down at the bowl and whisk in his hands and noted that the eggs had taken on a lemon-yellow color and a certain thickness. “Oh.” He set them down, threw a pat of butter into the pan and watched it skate across the hot surface, then poured the eggs in. He grabbed a silicone spatula and began stirring them around. He threw some bread in the toaster, made the coffee, checked on the eggs, buttered the toast – a hundred tiny things he hoped would take his mind off his urge to return to that factory and raze it to the ground for what they’d done.

Nick placed a plate and a mug of coffee in front of Monroe, then grabbed his own and tucked in. Unsurprisingly, neither of them seemed very hungry. 

“I knew, you know?” Monroe said. He was rubbing the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other

“Knew what?”

“That you’d find me. I just knew.”

Nick looked up at him and felt his face redden. He wished he had as much faith in his abilities. “It was a total coincidence, me being there,” he said, trying to disavow Monroe of any illusions he might have.

Monroe didn’t seem to hear him. “I had to kill another _blutbad_. While I was there.” He was stirring his coffee, not looking at Nick. “Almost the first day. They wanted to try me out, they said. See how I’d appeal in the ring, they said.” When he looked up at Nick, he had tears in his eyes. “It’s a sin to kill.”

“Monroe,” Nick began, getting to his feet. 

But Monroe got up and left the room, opened the front door to leave. “I need to go.”

Nick caught up to him and put a hand against it, slammed it shut. “You can’t go, you haven’t got any shoes on. Monroe, come on,” Nick put a hand on his uninjured shoulder and he tensed up.

“Have I ever told you why I became a _wieder blutbad_?” Monroe said, his back still to Nick.

“No.”

“You know, puberty hits _blutbaden_ hard. You think you humans have it bad, with constant hard-ons and pimples? Picture wolfing out at the faintest scent of blood or glimpse of the color red.

“I was a late bloomer. I had a girlfriend. A human. Maisie Peterson. Gosh, she was pretty. Long, blonde hair, blue eyes. She asked me to go steady when we were ten, and I put a frog in her book bag. But we were friends and when we were fourteen, we started making out, and then we were a couple. Just like that. Until Valentine’s Day, freshman year.

“She said she’d let me get to second base. I brought flowers. I thought I was the luckiest kid on the planet. She took off her shirt, and she had on a red bra.” His voice cracked at the memory. “That was the first time I was overcome, the first time I wolfed out completely.”

“What happened?” Nick asked quietly.

“I picked her up, I carried her away, into the woods. She was so afraid, and I loved it. She was crying, and so, so beautiful, and she was begging me, begging me not to – “ Monroe was crying, himself.

“Monroe, you didn’t…?”

Monroe turned to face Nick, tears running down his face, into his beard. “No. I didn’t. I ran home.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. My parents, well, they’re pretty powerful in my hometown. They paid off her parents, hushed it all up. But I was never the same. I couldn’t face her, couldn’t face what I’d done. I loved her, and I hurt her. So I ran. I just ran away.

“I came to Portland and I lived on the streets for almost a year. It was hard – I don’t know how I survived. But then a miracle happened. I met Father Ben Fazekas.”

“Really?” Nick said. He had heard of Father Ben and his home for street kids; he had no idea those kids were _blutbaden_?

“He took me in, told me that I wasn’t a monster, that there was a better way. He taught me how to control my urges, how to maintain my center. He saved my life, too, I guess. That’s when I met Hap. He wasn’t a runaway, but he hung out at the home, and we became friends. You know, it was always easy for Hap, the control. He could just shut the wolf down, just like that.” Monroe was staring past Nick as he remembered, his eyes lost in memory.

“So Father Ben, he kept me from hurting people. He taught me how to control that urge, and it’s a struggle to this day.” He focused his eyes back on Nick, and the haunted expression in them was something Nick would remember for the rest of his life. “So how do you think it feels that it was _people_ who forced me to kill two of my own? After what I’ve done to subjugate my nature, my instincts, my _soul_ to keep from hurting _them_? How –“ he was sobbing now, “how am I supposed to –“ He pounded his fist against the door and it rattled in its frame. He knocked his head back against it once, again, and then finally sank to the floor on his knees, his hands on his mouth to stifle his sobs.

“Monroe!” Nick said and got down in front of him. He took him in his arms and held him close, rocked him as he wept and murmured soothing words and swore to God and anyone else that would listen that he’d make it all right.

\----

“Hey, Monroe?” Nick said, walking into his living room. Monroe sat watching Judge Judy on the couch, a mug of tea gone cold beside him. It had been nearly two weeks since Nick had rescued him from the casino, and he hadn’t left Nick’s house once. Hadn’t touched a clock, or his cello. Hadn’t done much of any of the things that made him, essentially, Monroe. 

The casino had mysteriously closed; Nick suspected it had something to do with the half dozen or so thugs who had been torn to shreds by a group of vengeful _blutbaden_. The official status of the case was “inconclusive evidence to support further investigation.” But the end of the case meant Nick had less to do, and so he could spend more time with Monroe. Nick knew he needed help, but every time he brought it up, Monroe shut him down. He knew it’d take time, but he also hated to see him suffering so acutely. 

“I brought someone by to see you,” Nick said.

“What? Why? You know I don’t want to see anyone about this, Nick. I have to deal with it in my own way.”

“You mean, the stubborn, boneheaded, wrong way?” a voice said from the door, and a man entered the room.

“Ben?” Monroe said, rising from the couch. “What are you doing here? I thought you retired!”

Father Ben was a slight man, about 5 ft. 7 in., with white hair and thick glasses that didn’t hide the dancing blue eyes that seemed always to hold a smile. He took off the baseball cap he wore and stepped up to Monroe, let the big man engulf him in a long hug. “You know me – I can never leave you kids,” the old man replied.

“Please have a seat,” Nick said. “Can I get you something? Coffee?”

“Better make it whiskey,” Monroe said.

“Coffee’s fine,” Ben said, a hand on Monroe’s forearm. “Pancreatitis,” he said by way of explanation. Nick went to make a pot and when he brought it into the living room, the two old friends had their heads together, Monroe half off the couch with one knee on the floor, Ben with both hands on the younger man’s shoulders, speaking softly into his ear.

“I can’t talk about it,” Monroe was saying.

“You will have to, my son. You have to deal with what happened or it will destroy you.” He glanced over at Nick. “Destroy your young Grimm as well.”

Nick’s eyebrows headed toward his hairline; he didn’t think the old man knew what he was.

“Can’t I just talk to you?”

“Sure you can. But you need to talk with someone else too, a professional. I know a few _like-minded_ people I can recommend.” 

“It’s so hard to just go back, Ben. To the way I was. It’s like it’s all pointless. Who am I doing it for?”

“Do it for yourself. Forgive _yourself_. That’s all any of us can do.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Monroe said sullenly.

“Not as easy as you think. You of all people know that. Now, I ought to be going. You take care of yourself, and I’ll see you tomorrow after I say Mass at Holy Angels.” He rose, slapped Monroe lightly on the cheek and kissed his forehead.

“Thanks, Ben.”

Nick walked with the priest to the door. “Can I drive you somewhere?”

“No, I’ll walk – it’s not far. You take care of him, he’s not as strong as he pretends to be.”

“I will. Thank you, Father.” Ben turned to leave, but something he said made Nick put a hand on his arm, hold him back. “Something you just said back there – about forgiving yourself not being easy. What did you mean?”

“Like Monroe, I was brought up a certain way: taught to hate others because of what they were, to hurt and to maim in the name of fate or justice or tradition. But unlike Monroe, I _did_ hurt people, I _did_ kill. And it took a long time for me to see how wrong I was. But when I did, I saw that I could help others, those like Monroe who wanted a different way. It’s a daily struggle, and it’s my cross to bear, but I do it for the kids, I do it so they won’t make the mistakes I made.”

“You’re a _wieder blutbad_ , then?” Nick asked, opening the door for the old man. 

Ben smiled sadly. “No, my boy, I’m a Grimm.” 

Nick’s eyes widened. 

“And I’ve heard about you and the choices you’ve made,” Ben continued. “I commend you for your stance. It must be very difficult.”

“I do what I think is right. I protect the innocent. It’s not as black and white as creatures bad, humans good. Monroe’s living proof of that.” 

“That he is. And so are you. Keep it up, young Grimm. Perhaps you will change the world.”

“I’ll settle for a happy _blutbad_ ,” he said sincerely.

"That forgiveness - it goes both ways, Nick. You aren't to blame for what happened to Monroe." Nick opened his mouth to speak and Father Ben held up a hand. "We can't be responsible for the evil that men do, we can only defend them from evil. And in my opinion, you did just that, and you saved innocent lives. I hope you see that, but if you need to talk, you know where to find me." With that, the old man nodded and shuffled off. Nick closed the door and stood in the hall for a minute lost in thought, contemplating what Ben had said, hopeful that he and Monroe would make it through this crisis. 

“Hey Nick, can I borrow your car? I want to go get my cello,” Monroe called from the living room, and Nick smiled with renewed hope as he retrieved his keys. 

\----

Thank you for your time.

This work has a sequel: [Besessenheit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1099523)


End file.
